The Love Letter That Took Me Too Long

It’s funny how we’re always taught to live without regrets. That each and every one of our decisions has taken us to where we’re supposed to be right now. But I have come to realise that, as much as I would like to hide behind that reassuring idea, there are decisions I have made where I can’t help but wish I could defy the laws of physics and go back in time to change at least something about them, knowing what I know today. And feeling what I feel today.

Which brings me to this letter: an attempt to set free all those thoughts that seem to come back to me at very specific moments, accompanied by the painful nostalgia of unsaid words and endless what ifs. It’s the love letter that could have been “the first one”, but I was too afraid to put into words.

I was reckless yet vulnerable, returning to a place that had only known me as a child. With the excitement and never ending sensation of curiosity, I made a decision that would unknowingly lead your story and mine to encounter. We knew nothing about each other, and yet all it took was one summer evening sitting by the lake for me to realise that I wanted to get to know you for the rest of my life. I was younger back then, and had an unbreakable trust in spontaneous and unexpected love, even though I couldn’t get myself to admit to it. “Those things don’t really happen in real life”, people would say, but always with a subtle look in their eyes that made me think they were simultaneously hoping to be wrong.

And yet I was aware of that fact that the next morning there would be a train taking me away from this beautiful country, and away from you. I guess it’s one of those tricks life tends to play on us, where we find ourselves in a love story that didn’t get the benefit of a happy ending. But for the first time, it was nothing like that. Years had passed since we had walked to the tram that would take you back home, where you challenged the swiss transportation system and stopped in front of the closing doors to come back and give me an unexpected kiss. Years had passed, but on my birthday you still wrote to me on three different platforms, just to make sure I got at least one of them. And you were there for me that time I got robbed, and managed to turn a horrible situation into my failed attempts to retain a laugh while you told me the story of that time you accidentally pepper-sprayed yourself. You were one of a kind, truly. I’m sure you still are.

And that brings me to the part of the story I struggle to put into words. I was finally returning to Switzerland after all that time, and found myself sitting in the same train that would’ve taken me to see you. At this point I couldn’t tell if my hands were shaking due to the morning cold or the rising excitement. I had sent you a message earlier that week letting you know I was in town and going to visit you, and it felt as if the many plans we had talked about in the last four years were finally ready to become a reality. You were so happy, and so was I.

But I didn’t do it. I didn’t get off the train. When it was finally time to get off, I made a decision that would change everything we were sure of just a couple of hours before. I let the train take me to the next city, and sat back to watch this story evolve into something completely different from what I had imagined, but I’ll save that one for another time.

And only now, after all these years and endless experiences, I have the courage to admit that not a week goes by where I stop wondering who and where I’d be now, if doubt hadn’t changed everything for me that day. I know it changed some things for you as well, and for that I am so sorry.

I guess this is my way of trying to make amends with what I can. I might not be able to go back in time and kick myself out of that train when I had to, but at least one day you might read this and know that I never did, and never will, take you for granted. I now know what caring for someone should look like. That there’s no shame in feeling everything so deeply. That some lessons in life will hurt forever, but only to teach us to do things differently the next time.

Maybe I’ll see you again, and maybe not. But nevertheless, I’ll always remember you as the one I loved like only a young heart knows how. And if someday I find myself in that train again, know that I’ll be standing in front of the opening doors with a smile.